Consulting Criminal
by They Call Me Mrs. Holmes
Summary: Whilst Sherlock is away, John carries on with his other life. Something that Sherlock doesn't know about. Yet will Sherlock ever find out the truth?
1. When Sherlock leaves

John walked back to pick up the small suitcase and began to carry it over to Sherlock. The contents of the case rattled inside, and John looked quizzically up at Sherlock. The detective smiled sheepishly at his partner, and took the case from him and into the taxi.

"What do you have in there?" John asked confused.

Sherlock shrugged, "Just some items needed for the case," he mumbled.

"Sherlock, you realise that they will have everything you need at the station in Scotland, you don't need to take anything with you!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "No, John. I have no idea as to what the quality of the station in Glasgow will be like. Therefore I will bring all that I can, and all that I think will be useful," Sherlock said firmly.

This time it was John who rolled his eyes, "You idiot. Be safe, Okay? And call me when you get there."

Sherlock leant forward and softly kissed his lover on his lips, "Of course I will. Don't get into any trouble, okay? And don't get hurt."

"Are you kidding me? It'll be nice to have a few days of peace and quiet," John chuckled.

Sherlock gave John one last kiss on his lips and dove into the taxi, shutting the door and poking his head out of the window. "I'll be back in five days; the case should be solved by then."

"Five days? You're getting slow," teased John.

Sherlock glared half-heartedly at him and ducked back into the taxi, which slowly pulled out of the street and drove away. John watched the taxi leave, and then he walked back into 221 Baker Street. Mrs Hudson had already left earlier this morning to visit her friend, so she wouldn't be back till later on in the evening. John plodded up the stairs and sighed at the state that Sherlock had left the flat in, it never ceased to amaze him how messy his partner was. John navigated himself around the boxes of unsolved cases Lestrade had brought round, (for when Sherlock became bored), and sat down in his little armchair. He unfolded the newspaper and settled himself into the soft cushion of his chair, a contempt sigh escaping his lips.

Just then, a soft yet forceful knock broke John from his reading. He looked up and smiled, "Yes?"

The door opened to reveal a blonde women standing in the doorway. She smiled at John and sauntered over to sit in the black chair opposite John. Her hair was tied up in a bun atop her head, and she wore a simple black dress. She sat down gracefully, perching on the edge of the leather chair, her attention still focused on the blackberry she held in her hand.

John scoffed, "Hello, Catherine."

"Sir," she replied. "You have five appointments today, all at your office."

"Five? Well you have been busy," he said smoothly.

"Not as busy as you will be today," she replied quickly. John chuckled, "As it has been a while since your partner has left for a case on his own, I've had to fit in as many appointments as I can."

John nodded, "Yes, it has made things rather difficult." He folded up the paper and chucked it onto the floor. "My suit?"

"Jack is bringing it up now," she said, still typing rapidly into the phone. A large man stomped up the stairs and into the flat, holding a large bag over a hanger in front of the door.

"Sir," he barked. "Your suit."

John clasped his hands together, rubbing them as he stood up. "Excellent, thank you Jack." He took the bag from his outstretched hands and walked into the bedroom. Jack nodded to Catherine and walked back down to the car, which was waiting for John outside of the flat.

Ten minutes later, and John strolled back into the living room where Catherine remained waiting. She stood as her boss entered and smiled at him. He opened his arms and spun slowly on the spot, giving her a chance o look him over.

"Perfect, Sir."

"Yes, you do have an excellent taste in suits, Catherine," John said. He walked over to the mirror to check his appearance. Catherine blushed at his compliment, and stared subtly at her boss. He wore a pinstripe suit, and a pair of new black shoes that shone in the low light. His hair was combed back out of his face, and he wore a Bluetooth ear piece in his right ear. He rolled back his shoulders and turned to face his assistant, "It feels very good to be out of those jumpers." He strutted past Catherine and down the stairs, with her following him behind.

….

John stepped out of the open door and walked towards the large building, Catherine trotting next to him. They entered the front doors, the pair walking at a fast pace to the elevators at the end of the hall. The receptionist nodded at the pair, she didn't require the two to sign in. Everyone who passed John stopped to nod at the duo, before continuing with their jobs. Catherine pressed the button for the lift, slipping her blackberry into her bag she held on her arm. The elevator door opened and they both stepped in, the only ones in there. Catherine pressed the button for the highest floor and stood back.

"What time?" John asked to Catherine. She reached into her bag and pulled out a new phone and slid across the lock.

"Nine thirty, the Millers," she said, returning the phone back to her bag.

"Ah, have I seen them before?" he asked smoothly.

"No, they're new."

"Great, I love making first impressions," John joked, Catherine rolled her eyes. "What?!" asked John.

"You always show off when you meet new people," she joked. "It _is_ quite funny seeing their reactions to your methods of instruction."

John chuckled along with Catherine, "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Just… be nice," she teased.

"Nice?" John faked shock. "I am always nice. Do we know what it is that they want?"

The doors to the elevator opened and they both stepped out. John strutted down the long hallway, past his receptionist and into the large room. Catherine shut the doors behind him and sat down in one of the many chairs. John's office was very large, and very expensive. He had a new flat screen television mounted above the fireplace, on his left. His mahogany desk faced the door, at the far end of the room. A small sofa sat in the corner, and three chairs sat opposite his busy desk.

"No," Catherine took out her blackberry and began typing away profusely.

"Is my conference room free?" John asked, shuffling through the papers on his desk.

"Yes, ready when you are," she said.

John buzzed on his intercom to his receptionist, "Grace, are my clients here?"

"They just arrived, sir," she replied.

"Great. Send them through."


	2. Tedious Appointments

John and Catherine stood up, walking out of his grand office and down the hall. They turned to the right and entered a slightly smaller conference room. Around the large table sat thirteen chairs, six of them being occupied. John marched down to the head of the table, and sat in the chair. The six men, who had stood up as he entered, sat back down into their chairs. They all wore crisp black suits with white shirts. John could tell that they worked at a large company, and that they were very wealthy. Catherine took the seat on John's right, and took out her notepad and lay out her three phones in front of her. John clasped his hands together and rubbed them,

"So, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

One of the men, presumably the head of the company, coughed. "I am Mr Flavious Miller, the chair of The Millers Company."

John raised his eyebrow at the elaborate name, but nodded for the man to continue. "We have been informed that you provide certain services, for those who require it," he said subtly.

"To say the least, yes," John joked.

The man smiled nervously, "Well, you see, we… yes. We…."

Catherine smiled yet John sighed, "For the love of God, just tell me what it is you want me to do!"

The man looked a bit shocked but nodded, "We need to help a group of people move."

John laughed, "Oh, child's play. Let me guess, new passports? New names? New bank accounts? Yes?"

The man nodded, "However if you are unable to perform a task so complicated-"

"Excuse me?" interrupted John. "You think that I am unable to perform such a simple task?" John stood up and held his hands behind his back, pacing around the large table. "You come into my work, and tell me that you need something. And then you insult my intelligence by suggesting that I will not be able to do it?" The men shuffled in their chairs uncomfortably. "How do you think I paid for this?" John gestured around the room. "Do you honestly think that I can't do that?" his voice was cool like steel, yet bore into the men in the room.

"I'm sorry. I was just suggesting that-"

"I know what you were suggesting!" John took his seat. "Who is it?"

"Seven people, wanted for crimes that would have them sent back and executed in their own country."

"How lovely. How far do you wish to go?" Catherine picked up her pen, ready to take down their requirements.

"Excuse me? I don't understand," one of the other men spoke up.

"Christ, you're new at this aren't you? I am able to give them new names, I am able to give them new identities, passports. I can change their hair colour, eye colour, DNA, if you wish. It only takes one operation, and they will be unrecognisable not only physically, but also on whatever genetics sampling they may have to take."

The six men stared wide-eyed at John, "You can do that?" one asked in disbelief. "How?"

John smiled wickedly, "I am a consulting criminal. I can give people new identities, I can kill them, I can save them, I can hire assassins, I can blow up a building with a single nod."

Catherine scoffed, John glared at her. "So. What do you need?"

* * *

An hour later and all the details had been sorted. The seven people would undertake an operation tomorrow and fly to Papua New Guinea the following day. John rubbed his head and sighed, he was exhausted and it was only half past ten.

"That was painful," John sighed to Catherine.

"You were totally over the top," she replied.

"Excuse me?"

"You and your big speech about what you can do, and how insulting they were," she joked. "You're not the leader of the mafia!"

"I was being nice," he said flatly.

"You were being dramatic," she mumbled.

"Shut up, or I'll fire you."

"No you won't," she gathered up the sheets and stood up. "I'll put these on your desk, you'll need to sign them later."

John was smiling, "Of course. When's my next appointment?"

"In a few minutes," she sighed. She too was tired.

John rubbed his forehead again, feeling the beginnings of a headache approaching. Catherine reached into her bag and pulled out a pack of painkillers. She tossed them over to her boss, who smiled gratefully and took two.

"You can't keep this up, it's bad for your health," Catherine said.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. One day Sherlock will find out, and then what will you do?"

"Sherlock will never find out. He can't, it will kill him. Especially about you-know-who. I'll just have to be more careful."

"He will find out, and then there will be hell to pay. And as to you-know-who" she mocked, "He hasn't arrived in years, I'm sure you're fine."

"I'm not scared of him, Catherine."

"I know you're not. You used to be partners after all, but you are scared of Sherlock finding out about him," she said.

John nodded, "Yes, I suppose. Who's my next clients?"

"They're new, again. I think they're here to talk about systems?" she guessed. "They were unclear when I questioned them, foreign I think."

John nodded, "Anything interesting today?"

"Yes, your final appointment."

"Oh, do tell me," he joked.

"A murder, foreign company," she replied.

"Russian?"

A small smile broke onto his assistant's lips, "Maybe."

John burst out laughing, "I haven't seen Victor in years! Oh this is great; make sure you order some vodka for them."

"Already done, sir."

"Good, good. Well that is something to look forward to," John laughed again. "Who else is coming?"

"Mr Krum, Mr Jones and some new members," she smiled, Catherine knew how much her boss loved to deal with his friends.

"Even better! I wonder who it is they need…" John pondered.

"Does it matter?" Catherine asked, walking towards the door.

"No, I suppose not. Send in my next clients!" he called out to her.

She nodded and opened the door, to place the forms on his desk and send in his next appointment.

* * *

John watched as a group of three men knocked on the door and entered the room. John gestured for them to sit down in the chairs at the end of the table. They did so, and stared at John nervously. John had his hands steepled against his lips, he then realised that this was starting to become a habit he had picked up off Sherlock, and placed his hands back on the table. Catherine opened the door silently and walked down the plush carpet, to her seat where she sat next to her boss.

"How may I help you?" John asked quietly.

One of the men stood up and smiled at John, "Ve are representatives from ze 'Hoogens' company." His accent was thick, John guessed he was from somewhere near the Netherlands.

"Ah, yes. You deal in the matters of… computer software?" John strained to remember.

"Yes, sir. Ve are here for some advice . It seems zat we 'ave a mole in the system, as they say…"

John raised his eyebrows and nodded his head understandingly, "I see. Do you have any ideas as to who the mole may be?"

"Ve have several suspects. It is definitely not one of us, as ve 'ave all lost shares in ze company due to ze security breach."

"Do you have the names of the suspects?" John said.

"Yes, sir. There are fifteen suspects," the man reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small envelope. He slid it across the table, where it landed in front of John. John slipped the envelope into a pocket on the inside of his suit without looking at it.

"I will pass this information on to someone I know. He will visit the suspects and…. ask them a few questions," John smiled wickedly. "If you book another appointment with Catherine for some time next week, I can pass on the information to you."

"Sir," Catherine spoke up, "You are completely booked next week."

"The week after?"

"Possibly, I will have to look with the gentlemen," she unlocked her phone and scrolled through the planner.

"I'm sorry, questions?" one of the men asked.

"Yes, questions. You have a mole and I will find them. If you have any problem with my methods, then you shouldn't have consulted with me," John stared at the man who had spoken up.

"No problem at all, sir," the other man said. "Thank you for your time." He stood up, followed by the two men and walked out of the office to wait in the hall.

John turned to Catherine who was still on her phone, "I want a background check on all of them. I want to know who they are and what their net worth is. Let's see how much money we can get out of them, okay?"

Catherine nodded and stood up to meet with the men, "Yes sir. I'll get right on it sir."

She walked out of the door and into the hallway, typing rapidly on her small phone. The transformation from Sherlock's John, to the John she knew never ceased to amaze her. Her boss was powerful, and dangerous, and dealt with some of the most scary criminals she had ever seen. Her boss was not a man to be messed with, she admired him greatly, yet also feared him, and rightly so.


	3. Old Friends

"Thank you, John," winked the ginger haired woman. She wore a deep red dress that went just above the knee. Her black leather jacket hung off her small frame, as she walked the dress danced around her legs.

"No problem, Anna," John held open the door for her.

"It really has been nice seeing you," she purred. Her voice was deep and husky.

"And you, give John my love," the man smiled.

The lady sighed dramatically, "Sometimes I think I married the wrong John." She leant forward and kissed the man on his cheek, allowing her lips to linger on the skin longer than she should have.

From the corner, John's assistant scoffed. John ignored the noise and watched as his latest client left his office. He then shut the door and walked back over to his desk, collapsing back into his leather chair and sighed.

"I need a drink," he mumbled.

Catherine walked over to the drinks cabinet on her right and brought out the bottle of vodka she had ordered for John's final clients. She poured him a small glass and handed it to the aging man. He smiled and eagerly drank.

A heavy knock interrupted the silence of the room. Catherine walked over and opened the door to reveal five men, all wearing old leather jackets and deep coloured jumpers.

"John Watson, you best not be drinking the vodka without us!" One of the men walked through the doorway; he was tall and very muscular. He bound down the large office and John stepped back from behind his desk. The two embraced, clasping each other on their backs. After they has said hello, John did the same for two other men. One of them bald and the other with shoulder length black hair.

Two of the men John didn't recognise, he thought they were probably the new members. They hung at the back awkwardly, shuffling their feet every so often.

"You're recruiting young, huh?" John said to Victor.

The man turned to the boys at the back and jerked his head, "You two, out in the hall."

They nodded and left the room, Catherine shut the door behind them.

"Ah, Catherine. How you doing?" the bald man asked.

"Very good, thank you sir," she smiled.

"Please, we've known each other long enough; call me Billy," he insisted.

The assistant nodded and walked over to the drinks cabinet, pouring four glasses of vodka. She carried two over to the table, and picked up the empty glass John had been using. She carried over the other two glasses and placed them onto the desk between the four men.

"Thank you, Catherine," John nodded for her to take a seat behind him slightly. "Boys, sit down."

They all grinned and sat down, drinking happily from the expensive glassware. "So, John. How are things with you?" Victor asked.

"Great. Busy, but good. I trust you have been well?" he raised his eyebrows.

The men laughed, "Extremely. However we have run into some trouble…"

John nodded, "Of course. You're not here just to drink me out of vodka," he joked.

"Not this time, my friend." The Russian stood up and walked over to the drinks cabinet, bringing the bottle with him and placing it in the centre of the desk.

"Catherine says it's something about a murder?" John started.

The man with long hair nodded, "Yes. One of our men screwed up, the bastard. Got himself killed whilst meeting someone. Now we have loose threads, they know where we are based and we can't afford to have any problems. We've tracked them back to London, but we won't be able to do things how we usually would."

John nodded as he thought, "Someone I'd know?"

Victor shrugged, "Know a Sherlock Holmes?"

Catherine gasped quietly, and John chocked on his drink. "Excuse me?"

"What's wrong with the two of you?" Victor asked frowning. "D'ya know him?"

Catherine opened her mouth but John spoke first, "No, no we don't. Carry on."

"Well," Victor began hesitantly. "Apparently this Holmes bloke was working with some other people in Siberia. People from British organisations, we don't know specifically. What we do know is that he's apparently in London. Can you help us?"

"I'll think about, fellas," John mumbled.

"Think about it?" Victor asked. "You've never had to think about dealing with us before!"

"I know, but I want to know more about him. And I've also got to sort out some other stuff too. I'll let you know by the end of the week, alright?"

"Fine. But if you won't help us, then we'll just do this ourselves. Go it?" the bald one said gruffly.

John nodded, "I understand. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"We're fine, thanks."

"What hotel are you staying in?" Catherine asked quietly.

"Marco's," the bald man grunted.

Catherine quickly wrote down the name of the hotel on her pad, her hands shaking slightly.

"You alright, love?" Victor asked.

"I'm fine, thank you," she assured, trying to steady herself.

"Are you sure there's nothing else I can help you with?" John turned their attention away from his nervous assistant.

They all shook their heads, "We're fine," they said, standing up, "Thanks for the drink, my friend." Victor shook John's hand. "You'll have to come and visit us back home sometime, you haven't seen the wife for years."

John faked a smile, "Of course. Thank you for coming, we'll be in touch." He walked with the men out of his office, hugging each of them goodbye and shutting the door behind them. John turned back to face Catherine and collapsed against the door, sighing desperately.

"Oh my God," she said. "Oh my god."

"I know," John walked over to the bottle and poured himself another glass. "Christ, they're looking for Sherlock."

"Not just looking for him," Catherine added. She threw her notepad on the table and drank the remainder of vodka from one of the glasses. John was too worried to notice her unprofessional behaviour.

"Fuck it!" John yelled. "What am I going to do? They want to kill Sherlock!"

Catherine sat down next to her boss shaking her head. "You're going to have to tell him."

John's head snapped to face his assistant, "Sherlock!?" he laughed bluntly. "No, I can't tell him."

"You'll have to, they'll find him without your help, it'll just take longer. He needs to know, he'll know what to do," she assured him.

John laughed sinisterly, "You expect me to tell my boyfriend- that I consult with criminals, that I deal with the kind of criminals we hunt. And that also, some people I used to work with want to kill him?"

**Thank you to everyone who is reading this, please review and let me know what you think! Mrs H x**


	4. No More Lies

"Sherlock, you need to come home. Now."

"Why? I've only been gone a few hours, John."

John paced his office rapidly, Catherine had tried to calm him down but he was taking none of it. Instead, she decided to tidy his desk and sort out other appointments for the next week.

"No, Sherlock. I'm being serious, I need you home now," John said desperately.

Sherlock laughed wickedly, "Oh? You need me, do you?"

"Not like that!" hissed John. "Please, please come home. I can't explain over the phone, but you have to get home now."

"John, I'm in the middle of a case. You don't understand, if I can prove that the suspect is allergic to a certain gel, then I can solve the case!"

"Sherlock," John growled. "Please come home, I don't know what I need to say to get you home. Please."

"John, it's ten fifteen. How am I supposed to get home now?" Sherlock sighed.

John turned to Catherine, holding the phone to his chest. "Send a car to the hotel Sherlock is staying in, I want him home now."

"Sir, that won't be for several hours…"

"Now!" John barked.

Catherine nodded and left to arrange transport. John lifted the phone back to his ear to continue the conversation. "I'm having a car sent to pick you up, it should be here in a few hours."

"A car?"

"Yes. You can't get a taxi back home, it'll cost too much. And we can't wait for the right train to come along so I'm sending a car to get you."

"John, what car?"

"I'll explain later, just get in when it comes. It'll be a man called Jack, do as he says. Ill see you in a few hours, okay?"

"John…"

"Please, Sherlock."

"Fine. I hope you have a good explanation for this."

John hung up just as Catherine walked back in. "Sir, Jack is ready for you."

"I'm not coming; I have things to attend to. Tell Jack that I don't care if he breaks every law in the book; I want him to get to Sherlock as fast as he can. Got it?"

"Yes sir." Catherine ducked out of the room.

* * *

Several hours into the early morning, Sherlock burst through the large wooden door and into John's office, followed by a tired Catherine. "John, what's going on? I don't understand," Sherlock strode to the front of the desk and stood impatiently in front of a bedraggled John.

Catherine ignored the child-like behaviour from Sherlock and walked behind the desk to see John. "Sir, are you okay?"

John had his head in his hands, resting on the desk. His once impeccable appearance had been tarnished; he now looked like a tired old man. His hair was untidy, his suit jacket was thrown over his chair and his tie hung loosely around his neck. "I'm fine," croaked John. Clearly he hadn't slept at all last night. "Could I have some water, please?"

"Yes sir," Catherine hurried over to the drinks cabinet and poured John a glass, before taking it back to him where he drank heavily.

"John, why does she call you sir?" Sherlock turned the attention back to him.

John laughed bluntly, "Surely you know why?"

"I realise that you are her boss. What I meant is that why am I here? Why are you here? And what are you doing?"

John gestured for Sherlock to sit in one of his chairs, he did so warily. "Catherine, do you mind giving us a moment please?" The assistant nodded and left the room, shutting the large door with a soft click behind her. "What do you understand?"

"That you've been lying to me," Sherlock said flatly.

"No, that's what you _know_. What do you understand about this?"

Unlike John, Sherlock looked well slept and clean. He obviously had no trouble relaxing in the car, and hadn't been worried about the situation. Sherlock wore his purple shirt, John's favourite, and a dark suit. "I understand that you are not who you said you were. That your financial situation is better than I anticipated, or rather than you led me to believe. That you own a large company, take part in some sort of wealthy dealing."

John nodded, "Good. Sherlock, what I'm about to say wont please you." Sherlock didn't respond. "Fine. You're right, I am wealthier than you presumed. I own several shares in companies, and own the company 'Roberts', taking my mother's maiden name. However, I leave that business to some trustworthy people. My main concern is a more secretive business." John stopped to see how Sherlock had reacted to this so far, and he didn't seem that shocked. "I partake in a more criminal business. I consult with criminals and aid them when I can, which is always. I help with moving people to other countries, giving them new identities, murders, bombs, everything. You think of it and I do it. Yesterday, some old friends visited me-"

"How long?" Sherlock whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"How long has this been happening?"

John swallowed; he didn't expect him to react so calmly. "I started before I left to fight. I came back, and had lost a lot of money. I managed to rebuild the company, broadening my horizons for extra money. I was consulting before I met you, the longer I did it the more people I helped and the more serious they got."

Sherlock nodded, but didn't reply.

"As I was saying. Yesterday, some old friends visited me needing help. They had a security breach; one of their men was killed. But now, the intruders know where they are based. Out of all the people, they managed to kill all but one. This one person knows where they are based, and they want to find him. They don't think he's told anyone about it yet, otherwise they would have been raided. That person is you, Sherlock. Several weeks ago, you didn't visit your ill parents for a few months. Did you? Mycroft had you sent to Siberia, where you invaded a secret base."

Sherlock didn't speak, but nodded his head slowly.

John sighed, "Seems I'm not the only one lying. They don't know that I know you. They want to know by the end of the week if I can help them, if not, they'll find you themselves. That's why I needed you home. I've thought about it all night, you're going to have to leave the country. They won't rest until they find you, which is why I am going to have to kill them. Once it's done, you can return."

Sherlock didn't respond immediately, he just stared at the floor. Finally, after a few minutes of painful silence, he lifted his head. "No."

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading so far, and for the lovely reviews. Please review and let me know what you think! Mrs H x**


	5. Arrangements

John's face froze, and then broke into a smile. He began to laugh uncontrollably, his shoulders shaking from the giggles. Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly. Perhaps John was fatigued, and had crossed over into hysteria? John slowly stopped laughing and looked up at his partner sat opposite him, he was so unaware. "Sherlock, you don't understand. That wasn't a question, I was telling you. You are going away. Flights have been booked, accommodation arranged, you need to lie low for a while until this can be dealt with."

John's intercom buzzed, as Sherlock gave a resounding "No."

John ignored this and pressed the button to talk to his receptionist. "Yes?"

"Sir, he's here."

"Send him in," John sat back in his seat and turned to Sherlock. "If I can't convince you then he will."

Sherlock's back stiffened and he narrowed his eyes at John, as the large door to his office opened. Mycroft came striding through, swinging his umbrella as he walked. "Good morning, brother mine."

Sherlock launched out of his chair and spun to face his brother. "What are you doing here?"

Mycroft laughed dryly, "John called me of course."

"You know about this?" Sherlock hissed.

"Of course I bloody know. You think that I won't have a background check on anyone you know? Of course, John had made it rather difficult to find out the truth." Mycroft tilted his head so as to look at John. "Nicely done, by the way."

He turned back to his younger brother, "Sherlock, it seems you have been lying to me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Me? I've been lying?"

"Yes, you have." Mycroft walked forward and sat in one of the chairs at John's desk. "It appears that your undercover work in Siberia was more successful than you said. In you debriefing, you informed us that you had discovered that the organisation wasn't a threat. Clearly, you have been lying, as they are after your head."

Sherlock snorted and plonked down into the plush chair. "Why are you here?"

"I called him, here's helping me move you," John explained.

"Yes, you're going to be staying in a military base for the next few weeks, somewhere low key. You can return when this business has been sorted," Mycroft added.

Sherlock scowled. He wasn't a child, he didn't need a telling off and a time out, he could help.

"No, no way in Hell. That's not what we agreed!" John's eyes bore into Mycroft's.

"But it is what's best."

"No. I said that he will be staying somewhere I know, somewhere that I know is safe and he will be okay. We are doing this on my terms, Mycroft. Not yours. Sherlock will be staying in a location I trust, not in some military base in the middle of nowhere."

"He needs to remain low. You'd have him put up in a bed and breakfast, where he can easily be located."

John chuckled, "Mycroft, you know who I am, you know what I do. Therefore you know that I've moved people before, that I know plenty of safe houses for people. Sherlock will be fine there."

"...He will have men with him; some of my best will be there with him at all times."

"Of course," John agreed. "So, is this a deal?"

"I'll arrange the agents now," Mycroft scowled.

"No!" Sherlock burst. He had his arms folded and was leaning in the back of his chair, sulking like a child. "I'm not going, you can't make me."

"Sherlock," John tilted his head to the right slightly. "Don't test me. You need to go."

"No, I'm going to help. I can help you John!" he pleaded.

"Sherlock, please."

"No, John. You owe this to me at least, you've been lying to me for so long," Sherlock said pouting. He was, of course, doing this to make John feel guilty. He knew that John would feel like he had to let him help.

John sighed and rubbed his hands across his face, sighing into his palms. "Mycroft, I want two of your best with us," John spoke into his large hands.

"I don't take orders from you..."

"Just. Do. It." John interrupted. "Okay?"

Mycroft rose from the chair and strode out of the room, his umbrella no longer swinging. John walked over to his drinks cabinet and poured himself a small glass of whisky. "So, naturally you'll have some questions about everything."

Sherlock scoffed at the obviousness of the subject. "Naturally."

"Go ahead," John sat back down into his leather chair.

"What do you do?"

"I consult with criminals."

"No, what is it that you _do_?"

"Oh, anything. People come to me for help, and I provide them with it. I can give someone a new identity, I can change their DNA so they are unrecognisable to any system. I can hire assassins, I can kill a family, I can blow up a block of flats. I can break into any Military base and download their files within seconds," John said almost proudly.

Sherlock frowned, "You're no better than Moriarty."

John flinched at the name, "Don't say that, I'm not like him. I'm your boyfriend. We solve crimes together, we help people. We watch terrible TV shows on weekends, you play the violin and I listen. I'm the same John, your John."

Tears started to swim in Sherlock's eyes, but he blinked them away. Angry tears. "Not anymore you're not."


	6. Chapter 6

John bound up the stairs to 221B and opened the door, slamming it with a loud bang that shook it on its hinges. The fuming man stormed down the hallway and into his bedroom. He loosened his tie and threw it behind him, kicking off his shoes and discarding them carelessly. He ripped of his shirt and chucked it on the bed, followed by his trousers. He stood in the bedroom, hands on hips, wearing nothing but his boxers. The businessman launched into his wardrobe and pulled the clothes hanging on the rack out of the way. He reached to the back of the wardrobe, where against the wood sat a pile of jeans. He grabbed a random pair and shoved them on, pulling a jumper off the rail and chucking that on too. He left his expensive clothes lying in his room, and he marched into the living room.

**_I need a new suit. _**

**_-JW_**

_Yes sir, on my way. C_

John collapsed into his chair and ran a hand over his face, thinking back on his last conversation with Sherlock.

"_Not anymore you're not._" John had almost started to cry when Sherlock said that. What followed that probably wasn't the best conversation the pair had had.

_"I'm not like Moriarty."_

_"You're no better than him."_

_"No, I'm not. Why do you say that?"_

_"You've been lying to me, right to my face. I don't think I can be here."_

_"Sherlock, where will you go?"_

_"Out."_

_"You're leaving me?"_

_"I don't know! I just can't stand to look at you right now." _

_"It's not safe for you."_

_"Fuck off, John."_

John flinched as he remembered Sherlock's last words to him. The knocking of the door broke John from his trance, and he stood up and opened it. Catherine held a suit on a hanger in one hand, and a phone in the other. Even with only one hand available, she was still able to type.

"Sherlock?"

"I have tabs on him," Catherine said. "He's being followed, but I don't think he knows yet."

"Where is he?" John took the suit from her hands and walked back into the living room.

"Still in London, Tony is tailing him, he's fine."

John nodded and walked around the corner, into the hallway. He got changed there, able to carry on with the conversation with his assistant, who was sat in Sherlock's chair.

"Any news?" John's voice was muffled by the jumper he was removing.

"Mycroft has brought men with him to the office, I told him to wait and that you'd be along now. He doesn't know that Sherlock has left."

The man sighed and continued to dress into his expensive suit. "He's going to be trouble. Mycroft needs to back off and let me handle things."

John walked back into the living room, doing up the cuffs on his wrists. He stood in front of the mirror and adjusted his appearance. "With all respect, Sir…." Catherine stopped mid-sentence as she looked up at her boss. The man wore a deep blue suit that was almost black, underneath was a crisp white shirt and a matching tie. It was amazing how an expensive suit could make the man more attractive.

John turned around and flashed his business smile at his assistant, "Yes, Catherine?"

The lady swallowed and blushed softly, "Nothing, I um, what I was saying is that Mycroft loves his brother just as much as you do." John raised his eyebrow and smiled. "Okay, maybe not in the same way," she laughed softly, "but surely this would all be easier if the two of you worked together?"

John strode away from the mirror and stood in front of his assistant, "I don't think-" John was interrupted by a beeping from the phone in Catherine's hand. She looked down and gasped softly. "What?!"

Catherine shook her head and stood up, "We've lost him, Sir. We can't find him."

"What?!" breathed John. "Where was he last?"

"East London," Catherine said following her boss down the stairs of the house. "We can take you there but he might not be there…"

"Do it," John commanded. He slid into the open door of the black car waiting for him and took out his phone. He dialled Sherlock's number and waited impatiently. "Come on Sherlock, pick up the bloody phone…" he mumbled under his breath.

No reply.

"Sherlock, please call me when you get this message."

"Do you think something could have happened?" Catherine asked from the seat next to her frantic boss.

"I don't know." John leant forward to speak to the driver, "Get us there fast."

The driver nodded and pulled away from the street.

John sent a text to Lestrade-

**_Let me know if Sherlock gets hold of you, please._**

**_-JW_**

Before sending a text to Sherlock-

**_Please call me, let me know you're okay._**

******_-JW_**


End file.
